


Hot and Bothered

by Ylevihs



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Celia being a dick, Consensual Sex, F/M, Ghost Sex, Lucio being a dick, PWP, Sass, Spectrophilia, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, vast liberties taken with how ghost sex would work in the Arcana verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: The ghost of a Count serves as quite an effective distraction for a busy witch.





	Hot and Bothered

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a Kiss Prompt on tumblr for a kiss meant to distract a person, expanded into a smut piece by request.

The windows weren’t open. 

Celia blinked a few times to confirm it, glancing over her shoulder to check if the light curtains were moving. She peered closer in the gloom, half out of doubt of her own eyes and half out of hope that she was wrong. They hung, still and unmolested by any breeze. The flame in her lamp sputtered gently and Celia, after a taking a moment to soothe marrow-deep human instincts telling her to leave, turned back to the desk. 

After a cursory glance at the sentence she’d stopped halfway through Celia hummed and. 

There.

Another _something_ light. Just on the edge of feeling—a short, light exhale over her shoulder that caught a few strands of her hair and sent them drifting in front of her face. Reflexively Celia’s hand shot out, swatting impotently at empty air. She stared at the spot where she’d felt the shift in air and saw only empty black. She was alone, said her eyes. Like hell, said every fiber in her body. An unbroken chain of ancestors stretching back thousands of years told her this was bullshit. Leave this room now.

You’re not alone. Fight or flight impulses dug into her gut and pulled. 

But the black blank stillness stretched out and the longer she sat, poised and trying not feel frightened, the more foolish she felt. Nothing was there. Just nerves, frayed from being awake too long, from too many hours working in the dark on her potions, overreacting to nothing. Eventually the magician’s pride grew bruised by being a startled and jumpy idiot and a begrudging balm was soothed over her frazzled nerves. 

Smooth ink and the steady scratching of letters coming to the page did a great deal for Celia’s mood over the next few minutes. As time passed Celia entered almost a meditative state, focused only on the instructions she was setting down and the physical sensations of the world around her. The gentle flicker of the oil lamp casting block shadows, the soft smells of parchment and ink. The cool feel of the wood grain against the palm of her other hand and the deliciously sensual heat of lips on the back of her neck. 

Celia only barely stifled a scream and jerked away from the contact, one hand clasping firmly over her mouth the other cemented to where it. Where it. Where _he’d_. 

All of the adrenaline in Celia’s body turned sour at once.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” she spat at the empty air, rubbing a bit too hard at the place where he’d kissed her. It stung from her friction and she let it, having gone from terrified to furious in less than a second. The ghostly laughter—guffawing, if she were to be honest—did little to improve her mood. Another soft kiss on her cheek. Celia shrank away and into a third kiss just on the shell of her ear, light and playful. It felt like he was everywhere at once, which was decidedly unfair. 

Celia threw an elbow back into empty space and the assault ended. “I swear to--,” Celia huffed, painfully aware that there was nothing she could say or do to actually reprimand him and turned back to her writing. At least now she knew it wasn’t just her mind playing anxiety riddled tricks on her. And that the thing keeping her company, her mind went back and edited the word “company” to something much more scathing in later drafts, was a mild annoyance at the best of times and something that could be banished at the worst. She took up her pen again, determined to return to her work and was met with another peck to her temple. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” she interrupted a kiss that seemed to be aimed for the tip of her nose.

It was apparently the wrong thing to ask. 

There was a hissing noise, a sound of disapproval. “Ugh—you’ve always been so boring,” followed by another kiss, this time on the tender skin of the inside of her wrist. One of the few places that always made her melt. She felt searing heat slide over her flesh, sending far too many zips of excitement up her nervous system. It lingered for a moment too long and Celia snatched her hand up to her chest and staunchly ignored the way her heart had made yet another leap in its pounding. She was certainly no longer frightened. Angry still, but angry was her baseline. And. Muscles began tensing, flesh raising up into gooseflesh in anticipation. Where?   
Nothing. 

And then still nothing. 

And then.   
Still. Celia exhaled hard and rubbed absently at where the spectral mouth had pressed against her skin, both enjoying and trying not to enjoy the way the heat made her fingers curl. Perhaps he was actually as bored of her as he’d claimed and had left her to bother someone else. It was just as likely as the idea that he was patiently waiting.  
A tiny thought, one which Celia hated as soon as she thought it, wondered if going back to writing could goad him into…which was stupid and. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t encourage this sort of behavior. She. She wanted him to kiss her again, Celia realized dimly and all at once was rather disappointed in herself. And excited by the idea that it could be so easy for once to get what she wanted. 

The second her hand made contact with her pen, lips made contact with her skin and it was almost too hot and Celia did let out a small shriek this time, folding away from the tickling sensation of a kiss just under her jawline. The skin felt raw when she rubbed it—the temperature had increased from that initial warmth to something that might actually be dangerous. Celia swallowed hard against that small bubble of fear. 

“If,” to Celia’s genuine horror her voice wobbled a bit and she cleared her throat hard. Miles away she heard throaty chuckling; the sound of a deeply satisfied gadfly. “ _When_ ,” she amended, “you kiss me again, you damn well better do it right,” 

 

There was a slight shimmering pause, like a heat oasis in the desert, and the unseen mouth on hers was just on the safe side of too hot coffee. Not quite scalding her skin and when she parted her lips a tongue that tasted of burning ash plunged into her. It was almost acrid enough to make her cringe; part of her wanted to pull away. The other half took control of her hands and reached out, desperate for something physical to clutch closer. They met no resistance. 

Which didn’t make sense, her mind cried out, because she could feel his hands turning her head, digging into her hair. Feel his heat sliding in her mouth and feel the hard slickness of his teeth against her tongue when she finally gathered herself enough to kiss him back. Despite there being nothing to see, Celia let her eyes slip shut, pouring all of her focus into the feel of his lips and tongue, too hot to be human and so. So. Celia made a noise she would forever deny making and shifted in her seat. She was forced back, allowed a moment to take in a breath of air, and then was swept back under. And then. 

Without warning her mouth was empty. There were no fingers in her hair. No pressure on her lips. No heat to be felt anywhere and the juxtaposition was sharp enough to make her shiver. She snapped her mouth shut. 

“You,” Celia opened her eyes and blinked dumbly into the dark. She realized she’d left her hands in the air, groping out for a nonexistent body to clutch to her own and brought them sharply back down into her lap. “You prick,”

The laughter returned, brighter and closer sounding, as though its issuer were just in the next room. Something inside Celia’s chest fluttered at the noise and she immediately tamped it down. She rose to her feet, as though it would make it easier to confront the specter. 

“What? I thought you wanted me to leave you alone?” the voice was grating and sing-song in its mockery, appearing first on her left and then shifting around her; circling her. Surrounding her. There was an inhale, sharp and high enough to make it clearly sarcastic. False surprise. “Could it be you’ve changed your mind?” Heat descended on her shoulders with a mild pressure. Lips appeared at her ear, sending her skin crawling in not as much disgust as Celia wished and slightly more excitement than she was proud of. It sounded…wet. Lewd. The moist slide of his tongue in his mouth as he whispered. “Do you want something else from me now, little Lia?” as punctuation a hot gust of air blew down her ear canal. It almost made her want to shiver. In revulsion of course, she casually lied to herself. 

For half a second Celia’s upper half wanted to sink back into the body heat it insisted must be behind her. She caught herself, but not before he could notice. He snickered, clearly proud of himself. 

“Tell me what you want,” his voice was driving towards ‘plaintive’, but had gotten side tracked and stopped for a break in ‘whiney’.

There was no moisture, no slick left in its wake, but Celia’s skin knew what a tongue felt like and there was very much a tongue swirling over the shell of her ear. Dipping in and out in a crude pantomime that nevertheless seemed to have its intended effect on her. Without realizing it, Celia’s hand went to press him closer, hand cupped to cradle the back of his—her hand kept moving straight through where his head should have been. It earned her a bark of laughter and a flush of brilliant heat; she could have sworn the air around her shook with it. Scowling, the magician brought both of her hands to shoulder height, holding them palm up in surrender. 

“I’m sorry, did you not want me to touch you back?” 

“Ohhh, you want to touch me now, little Lia?”

Yes. Her fingers rubbed against themselves.   
No, said her stubborn pride.

“I think you just want to feel more of me. I can’t blame you,” Celia felt her lips curling into a small sneer; the expression fell from her face when a hand, as hot as a sun baked brick, scooped beneath her blouse and began absently fondling her, kneading passively, neither forcefully nor softly. “Like this? Is this what you want?” his voice had dropped an octave and if Celia had been focused she would have hated what the change did to her. 

Yes, her mind said again. 

Without her conscious consent Celia leaned into the heat, one hand dropping to press his palm harder to her chest. She still moved through him, although now there was sensation alongside it—like passing a hand too close over a campfire. The heat evaporated and left Celia groping her own breast. She paused mid squeeze, nipple hardening between fabric and her palm, feeling her face flush in embarrassment.   
“Dick,” she shot over her shoulder.

“Ha!” The snorting chuckle placed him to her front now and Celia jerked her gaze to the blank air in front of her. She focused on the window on the far wall, vaguely where she imagined his head might be. “You know, that was actually my going to be my second guess,” the pressure to her shoulders was back, urging her to move. After a moment of resistance, more for her own pride than anything else, Celia obligingly stepped back. One step. Two. Hardwood met the small of her back, blocking her movement. He pressed in—Celia was tempted to close her eyes and imagine the sight of him, his body, pressing her to the desk. Instead she reached out with her other senses. The room smelled of distant burning—far away heat tinged with acrid smoke. Charred meat just at the edges of recognition. She could feel the press of every finger; perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her but she imagined she could feel the difference even now between flesh and metal. “Guess what the first was,” he demanded, playfully pulling at her skirts. They ruffled and shifted as though a powerful desert wind had swept through the room. Celia made the interesting choice of looking down and saw her bare knees, thighs. Fabric rising higher to bunch at her midsection.

She made no move to stop them. 

“What?” Celia cleared her throat with the word, feeling her heart crawling up to investigate the view from her windpipe. She could practically feel her pulse in her teeth. As well as other, more yielding places. Her eyes drew up, choosing a small smudge high on the opposite wall. 

“Ugh,” a noise of disgust. “No,” he whined loudly, thumbs rubbing at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “You have to guess. There’s no fun in me just telling you,” Celia’s eyes rolled back—what would it be like, she wondered, to sleep with someone well adjusted for once? She’d never know, said a tinny voice from the corner of her mind, she’d have to remove herself from the equation first. The heat on her skin pulled away, ebbing back sharply like a wave at low tide. Her hips bucked after it, prompting her to indulge him and guess. 

“I have to guess what you think I wanted?” there was a low rumble of affirmation, vibrating the air and making Celia’s breath feel heavy in her lungs. Ooh, make him to do that again, urged a grinning part of her mind. Her gaze dropped, staring blankly in front of her, fully aware her line of sight would be more on his chin than his face. There were more than a few options to choose from. Both in what she actually did want and what he was probably coming up with. “Another kiss?” and the hands returned to her skin, gripping and kneading at the flesh of her thighs. 

“No,” he sounded exasperated, as if he had any right to, yet he did slip another kiss against her mouth. Slick and warm and if she had concentrated and if he’d only let it linger she could have sworn she could feel him smiling. Wriggling points of pressure on her thighs dug in, sliding in tight circles. Halfway between a massage and molestation. “Guess again,” he pushed. Celia slid her tongue out to wet her lips and found his mouth hadn’t fully retreated. On impulse she licked at the air in front of her and did just that—licked at the air. After a moment of scowling at where she assumed his face vaguely was, she huffed.

“Fingers _sss_ \--,” she was interrupted by the flat of his palm, heavy and so much hotter than any human’s hand had any right to be, cupping her. Formless digits twisted against her underclothes and shoved them without ceremony to the side. Celia’s legs shifted, giving the hand more access as she sank her hips down against it. The heat more than anything else, not yet painful, not yet dangerous, just summer sunlight crisping the skin and oh. Shit. 

“Took you two tries,” he tutted, rotating his wrist to and fro and sending a little shiver through Celia’s lower abdomen. The heel of his palm ground against her, spreading more of his heat—drawing more than a little of her own forward. “I thought witches were supposed to be psychic?”

“Coming in second never bothered me much,” she lied, trying to parse out the best way to position herself against the desk without completely splaying out for him while also completely splaying out for him.

“Coming second?” he echoed jeeringly. “You’re in for a treat tonight then, if you’re fine with coming second,” his words were followed by a very thick pause. “Wait.” The palm stopped its minute movements as he evaluated his phrasing. “No, yeah. No, you’re gonna be,” he repeated his earlier words just slightly under his breath. “It’s gonna be good, okay,” he finished with confidence and an invisible leer. It took a great deal more willpower than Celia would ever want to admit to not giggle at him. The hand resumed its fondling and with its return Celia exhaled something was very much not at all like his name.   
At all. 

Completely different.

Fingers began brushing lightly at her outer lips and she could feel her pulse beating against his touch. 

“Promises, promises,” which was supposed to sound significantly more chiding than the small voice she said it with. One of his fingers traced her inner lips, dipping in slightly. It pulled back and the empty space around her made a noise of...something. The return of ambient air, now all but freezing in juxtaposition, against her skin made her shiver in earnest. “Don’t be a child,” another ripple. “You grabbed one tit and ran your hand on me a few times,”

“Well, maybe you could put a little more effort in on your end,” Even if he hadn’t been a ghost Celia could have stared straight through him and into the next world. There was some grumbling before Celia’s blouse was lifted and hot hot too hot. Celia tried to flinch away from the searing heat her right nipple had been sucked into, reflexively curling back. The mouth followed, latching onto her and then lessening, the brief flash of heat apparently unintentional. Completely separate from his warmth Celia felt her face flushing as she watched her nipple harden in the flickering light. It rolled, an invisible tongue pushing at it. His hand returned to its task, rubbing small, tight circles over her hood with his fingertips, heat blooming beautifully under the contact.

Celia let one hand trace out where she imagined his cheek might be, running the back of her leg over the air where his leg should have been. She followed the feel of an open oven door and the suckling stopped abruptly. “That feels...weird,” she stopped stroking the air. 

“Good weird?”

“Just fucking weird,” he elaborated unhelpfully. “Your hand’s halfway through my head,” although he didn’t sound annoyed by it Celia moved her hand, bringing it to grip at the edge of the desk. 

“So I can’t touch you at _all_?” the question was out before she could stop it. Even the suggestion of such a thing made her palms itch in frustration. 

“Oh, don’t worry ‘Lia, you’ll feel all of me before I’m through with you,” his voiced pitched down again and fuck he needed to stop. Keep. Doing that. With his fingers working her clit so that the muscles in her abdomen wanted to flutter and jump. He placed a quick parting lick to the hardened bud on her chest before the heat retreated.

Then she felt the full length of his body press against her, chest to chest, pelvis rolling against hers. Fingertips coaxing more and more blood flow south. Warm pleasure streaming into her veins. The press of another hand, the false one, metal on the skin of her jaw, tilting her head so that wet and sweltering mouth could worry at her neck. Sucking at her jugular. A thigh pressed between her legs, spreading them so that it was getting difficult to keep her balance as she rocked with him. On her next slide backwards the edge of the desk bit a little too far into her back and caught her clothing. In a somewhat graceless movement Celia hefted herself up to sit on the desk. Pens clattered, something under her tore, an inkwell toppled and crashed to the ground. It would have annoyed her had the heat of him not followed, blanketing her, accepting the invitation to slot in between her open thighs. 

“Somebody’s certainly eager,” the grin could be heard in his voice, dripping with smug satisfaction. Celia ignored him, humping pointedly at the spectral hand between her legs. “Very well,”

A pair of fingers dipped between her folds to test her again and slid in easily, curling back towards his palm and stroking once, twice. An unseen pair of lips peppered kisses along her neck, jaw, cheeks. She had no way of telling where the next press would come from. Latent excitement trickled through her body at the thought. Celia made a sound that could only have been his name. “But only because you really seem to need this, darling,” his slight rolled off of Celia’s skin like a bead of sweat. 

Fuck him. 

She did need this. 

As smoothly as he’d been in her he left, which almost earned profanity were it not for the way her underclothes were suddenly halfway across the room and both hands were dragging her skirts off like they were on fire. Stubbornness slipping away, Celia jerked her blouse overhead and flung it to the side. There was a shift and he was within her again, two smoldering digits slipping deep and smooth to pump and curl. He tore another sharp sound from her chest when his fingers dragged along her upper walls, sending a tremor of pleasure up her spine. A brush of wonderful fire. Building far quicker than it had any right to. Eyes slipping closed, Celia drug her fingers through her own hair, more than a little annoyed at being unable to reciprocate. 

She wanted to pull at his hair and kiss his skin and drag along him until he whimpered her name. Wanted to feel his muscles shift beneath her palms. Wanted to feel him shake. Not just the disembodied hands and mouth she could feel now. 

After a moment there was the heat of a mouth on Celia’s and a hand hitching up under her knee, pressing it towards her chest. His tongue was bitter and burning against hers but she couldn’t bring herself to turn her head away. Celia wanted as much of him as she could take. He tasted vile. Rich. Rotten. Charred. She kissed him deeper as if in defiance of the flavor and was rewarded. The speed of his hand increased. Not so much thrusting into her as jerking up and down fiercely, her whole body shuddering with the force of it. It drove the curl of his fingers against something inside of her that sent her clenching tight.

“Shitfuck,” and she felt him laugh against her lips. Warm bursts of air that instead of grounding her only made her feel more delirious. The orgasm it wrung from her drove her eyes open to take in the dim room, searching for something, anything to associate with what she was feeling. Bare ceiling and lantern flame. Her hands reached out on instinct to clutch him close and were met with only empty space. Senses gone slightly mad with the strange deprivation, unable to register anything other than his fire burning into her, she gasped. Every inch of logic said she was alone in the room and could taste and smell and tremble around absolutely nothing. She curled forward, driving the fingers her mind tried to argue weren’t there deeper into her twitching core. “Lucio,”

The stretch in her bent leg eased as her knee was released. Celia let it fall, dangling over the edge of the desk. The intrusions had slowed, now petting at her more than anything, sending welcome jitters scattering through her synapses. Not the best she’d ever had, but certainly the most disconcerting. She almost felt a headache coming on. 

“Now if I recall correctly, there was something of mine you admitted to wanting earlier?” There wasn’t enough contrariness left in Celia’s body to be annoyed with him. “What was it?” something light tapped the tip of her nose, then the bow of her lips. Never mind. She struck on several reserves of indignation somewhere between her temples. Her answer was apparently too slow for his liking. “Ah, yes, you wanted me to leave you alo--,”

“Asshole,” stirred from her stupor, Celia felt a familiar and easy anger settle over her skin like a well-worn coat. It wasn’t communicated in her voice, which sounded muzzy and post-orgasmic and verging into. Her mind shut a firm steel door, blocking that hallway of consideration off. Reminding her of how clingy she got after sex. 

“Close,” without warning Celia could feel his cheek pressing against hers, his mouth on her ear. He was beaming. “Close but I think it was something just around the…aha corner,” he paused, clearly fighting something internally. “I mean if that’s what you actually…” he trailed. Celia stared at the ceiling, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying anything in response to that when: “But, if you can’t remember,” he said, sing song and light. 

“I suppose what I wanted was your dick but I can’t even tell if you have one anymore,” she said dismissively, wishing she could see his reactions. Wanting his expressions. 

“You’ll certainly never see it _coming_ ,” he sang back, light and easy, a roll of pressure along her inner thigh thrusting pointedly. 

Don’t you dare fucking laugh at that, Celia’s mind shot at her mouth. Her lips twitched upwards and she only barely managed to make it a sneer. He laughed loudly, clearly having seen her face before she schooled it. 

“Shut up and fuck me,” her traitor mouth fell into a grin with the movement. There was a shimmer of heat in the air around her and then Celia was full. Completely bypassing any sensation of being penetrated and skipping straight to the feel of him throbbing inside her. Celia’s head dropped back to the desk, a small gasp on her lips. 

“You like that?” he burned inhumanly hot. Only focused on that singular not quite yet painful sensation, Celia writhed, bringing both of her heels up onto the desk. Twin embers dug into her pelvis, holding her hips still for him to grind into. “Yeah, you do,” Celia groped fruitlessly at the poltergeist impaling her. A fraction of the heat cooled and every muscle in Celia’s lower body seemed to shake at once, the warmth spreading out and threatening to overwhelm her. It crept, twisting and writhing through her internal organs, settling at the base of her throat. She closed her eyes. Opened them. Tried to find something to focus on other than the completely spare space between her legs that was burning her alive. 

And then he started thrusting. Slowly at first, as if it made any difference to the waves of nigh on blistering heat skimming through her. Something felt like it was sizzling at the base of her spine. 

Well.  
That felt _very_ fucking good. 

“Lucio,” the spirit’s hips snapped forward, jolting both her body and the desk beneath her. There was low rumbling, a hum of approval with the sound of his name. His thrusts sped up a pace, the desk beginning to complain about this debasing treatment. “Is,” Celia cleared her throat, giving herself a moment to really consider if the idea her arousal addled brain had posed was a good one. Her sense of self-preservation gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. In that pause something of his descended on her clit and began rubbing it out of time with his thrusts. Celia bucked in response, finding a good use for her hands finally and leveraging her return motions against the edge of the desk. A terribly wonderful tension was building in her. “Is this, ah,” his thumb, what else could it be, it must have been his thumb. Pressed. And nearly made her see stars. “Thebestyoucando?” she managed to force out. 

“You couldn’t handle my best,” he shot back and squeezed her hip, other thumb rubbing hard circles on her clit and making her almost want to cry out. Celia tightened her grip on the desk, thrusting her hips back harder to meet his own and there was another noise just on the edge of hearing. 

Huh. A studious part of her mind jotted that note down for future use. She was about to send something back at him when he shifted his weight, hitting an achingly good spot inside her and pulling profanity from her lips again as well as a “There, Lucio, oh…yes,”. 

“You’re so needy,” he teased, but his thrusts remained concentrated towards that area. When he spoke next it was a high pitched mimicry of Celia’s voice. “Fuck me now, harder, right there, oh Lucio,” his words were nearly muddled by the wet, organic slap of Celia’s approval of his ministrations. His thrusting deepened and grew harder, making the desk shriek back with each push in and slam down with each with drawl. 

“You forgot,” and shit, she was getting out of breath, panting now against the coiling tightness in her belly. She was close. “Kiss me,” there was a slight shudder inside of her. His mouth tasted worse than ever—full of sour, caustic ash. His tongue drove it further, spreading the repulsive flavor over her gums, tongue, seeping down her throat in her own saliva. It reminded her of burnt blood. Of dead men. Celia gagged hard but arched against the specter; she’d be damned before she pulled away from him. Mercifully his mouth drug itself off of hers, planting close lipped kisses against the corners of her mouth, across her cheeks and temples. It felt bizarre and tender and fucking hell she wanted to wrap her arms around him. 

A kiss to the space between her brows lingered and Celia felt the tension in her lower abdomen peak. It held for a moment or two in which Celia babbled something horribly embarrassing about Lucio and her personal…ahem…opinions of him, before she came long and hard on his still thrusting cock. Her muscles clamped down rhythmically, trying to both hold him still and pull him deeper. The frantic slide of her hips lost their pace and she clawed at the hardwood below her body, muscles tensing up into a pleasured richtus. His fingers drew it out even further, toying with her clit through her spasms until finally Celia’s body acted of its accord, pressing in with her heels to try and escape the sensations. He followed her movement, the hand on her hip pinning her firmly to the desk so forcefully it stung. 

It was hard to breath—not for the motion but for the sudden fever heat tearing through her body. Sweat trickled down her in rivers, collecting in slick pools on the desk top; she felt the parchment shed been working on stick to her back. Her orgasm finally began to recede, oversensitive nerves going slightly numb for the moment, when her phantom lover locked up. She felt him shudder heavily inside her twitching vagina and then. 

Didn’t feel much after that. 

She’d expected an explosion of heat or the sensation of being filled or. Instead a blanket of dull warmth covered her and she could hear him panting heavily, huffing as though he were a living man desperate to catch his breath again. There was a mild warning signal from her brain cautioning her to be careful with her words. She couldn’t wrap herself around him the way she desperately wanted to, a blessing, but she could still say something that—

“Lucio. That was…,” she only barely managed to stop herself, settling for humming softly to herself instead of puffing up his already swollen ego. Still buried deep within her, Celia felt him twitch softly. Latent little aftershocks that her own body mirrored. 

“Best you’ve ever had?” he supplied. 

“Best I’ve ever had with an invisible nuisance,” she allowed, before amending. “So far, at least,” and she realized his face was pressed against the space between her breasts when she felt him smile. 

“You’re saying I should distract you more often?”

“No, I am very much not saying that!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you need me I'll be staring at the void over on Tumblr, I'm LadyShivs


End file.
